


Tomorrow, 'Mione

by Cassidy_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, No redemption, Psychopath Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidy_Black/pseuds/Cassidy_Black
Summary: Hermione met Tom in Glasgow during her last year in uni.She was a finance student while he was an acting student.A modern AU. No magic. Complete.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 23
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small piece I wrote a few years ago. 
> 
> Thank you for reading💛

Hermione first noticed that her chocolate milk had gone missing from the fridge.

She was pissed. It was midterm. She had three deadlines and one particularly difficult exam coming up. She wasn’t in any mood for this sort of bullshit.

She wrote a sticker on her food in the fridge in the common kitchen on her floor with angry letters all in capitals -

“DO NOT TOUCH MY FUCKING FOOD.”

And the next day her low fat strawberry yogurt was gone.

She found the remaining of her yogurt on top of the microwave. It was open, but barely touched. Her bright yellow Post-it was still on the little plastic box. She tore it off. Next to her own writing, someone left her a message -

_“This is disgusting.”_

Hermione binned the yogurt furiously.

Then she pulled out a pen from her bag and scribbled -

“TWAT.”

***

School had been busy in the next two weeks.

Exam was finally over on Friday afternoon. It was very hard. Even Hermione wasn’t sure if she got all the numbers correctly. Shoving her pen and financial calculator into her bag, she said goodbye to her friends, and walked back to her residence.

Some of her friends were going to a party in a pub that night, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go. She’d rather have a quick meal, make a nice cup of tea, curl up in her bed and finally be able to enjoy a book and go to sleep early.

Besides, she never liked any of her friends from the business school.

She lived in a student residence in the city centre; students from many different schools lived there. It only took around fifteen minutes to walk back. She always enjoyed the walk alone.

It had started to rain on the way. She quickened her steps.

She picked up some apples and a sandwich from the Sainsbury under her building on Queen St. There was a small doorway that led to the small yard in front of her residence. A couple boys were smoking under the doorway, chattering and laughing.

“See you,” one of them said to his mates when Hermione passed. Then he followed her to the door, and pulled it open for her.

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered with the grocery bag in hand.

“You’re welcome,” said a pleasant voice. She looked up, and paused for a moment, dazzled by that handsome face with sharp features, and deep blue eyes; he was quite tall, with floppy, messy dark hair. Casually dressed in a plain white shirt and a black jacket, he smiled a charming smile at her.

Hermione smiled too, and then moved inside.

“Which floor?” he asked when they walked into the lift together.

“Oh,” said Hermione, “third.”

“I live on third too,” he said, and pressed the button.

“Thanks,” she said, eying him a bit curiously. “I’ve never seen you around.”

If she had, she’d definitely remember this face.

“I just moved in recently,” he said, “I’m Tom, by the way.”

“I’m Hermione,” she smiled.

The lift stopped and they got out. They walked down the warm yellow corridor together. “What do you study?” He asked casually.

“Finance.”

“Cool,” he said. “University of Glasgow?”

“Yeah,” she said, and slowed down when they reached her door. He stopped too, and looked at her. He was charming, Hermione had to admit. More charming than any boys that had ever showed her interest before. “Where do you go to?” She asked.

He shifted a bit closer when a couple of girls passed them. Hermione knew them. They both went to her university as well. She noticed that they shot her a surprised look before heading towards the kitchen.

“I go to the conservatoire,” said Tom.

“Of course,” she said before she could stop herself.

He lifted an eyebrow, a bit amused, “ _what?_ ”

“I mean,” she chuckled, a bit embarrassed. “Well, you look the type.”

“Musical kid?”

“No. Artistic.”

That wasn’t entirely accurate. What she meant to say was that he _was_ a piece of art.

“Right,” he laughed, his blue eyes dark and beautiful.

“What do you study?”

“Acting.”

“Fancy.”

“I don’t know,” he looked down. Hermione noticed that he had long and thick eyelashes. “My heart’s not in it.”

“Then why do you study it?”

“Why do you study finance?”

She broke into a short laughter. “Fair enough,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hermione,” he said politely. “Have a good night.”

“You as well.”

He nodded at her and walked away.

When Hermione walked into the kitchen, Luna and Ginny, the girls that passed them before were eating macaroni and cheese at the small round table by the windows. They both looked up and giggled with excitement, “was it Tom Riddle you were speaking to?”

“I didn’t know his last name’s Riddle,” Hermione opened the fridge and put her apples in.

“He’s dreamy,” said Luna.

“He goes to RCS,” pointed out Ginny. “He’s in the acting class, you know.”

“Yeah. He told me,” said Hermione, and sat down next to them with her sandwich and a bottle of coke.

“How did you know him?” said Ginny. “Well, he’s nice, but he’s rather aloof. Always on his own. I’ve never seen him speaking to another person on this floor.”

“We went into the lift together,” said Hermione. “And then we sort of just started talking.”

“Yes, but who started it?”

“He did,” said Hermione, starting to feel mildly annoyed. “Look, Gin, I don’t think it means anything -”

She stopped abruptly when the kitchen door was pushed open and Tom walked in. “Hey,” he looked at Hermione and said, “I was just looking for you.”

Luna snorted and Ginny lifted a hand to cover a chuckle.

“A couple of friends of mine are going to see a play tonight,” he said. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Um, sure,” Hermione said, surprised but trying not to show it. “Thanks. What time is it?”

“Half seven. Meet downstairs at seven?”

“Ok.”

“See you in a bit.”

“I’m sure it’s _nothing_ ,” said Ginny sarcastically after Tom Riddle left the kitchen.

“Oh shut up,” smiled Hermione.

***

Tom’s friends from the conservatoire were very different from her friends at the business school. They were more lively and interesting.

Bellatrix, a girl with wild curls and in a short top and black jeans showed up with a tall, blonde boy called Lucius. They were together, and both of them seemed very close with Tom.

“Hermione, is it?” Said Bellatrix when they were standing in the small box office, waiting for Lucius and Tom to get the tickets.

“Yeah,” said Hermione. Something about Bellatrix intrigued her, but intimidated her at the same time. “Do you also study acting?”

“I do,” she said casually. “Lucius studies music.”

“Oh cool,” said Hermione. She didn’t know much about acting or music to keep the conversation going. She had the flashback from high school when she was once made to go to a party in a one of the most popular kids’ house; all she did that entire night was standing in a corner, holding a bottle of sparkling water, having no idea what to say or where to put her hands and feet.

Thankfully Tom and Lucius returned. Bellatrix walked away with Lucius, and Tom turned to her.

She wondered if this was supposed to be a double date.

“Let’s go,” said Tom, showing her the tickets.

It was an Irish play about a queer young man’s struggle in the 1980s. Hermione thought she’d probably be bored because she was never into theatre; since she was a kid she had found wearing costumes and remembering lines silly. But to her own surprise, she found this play genuine and authentic; from the first second she was drawn into the characters and their intense dialogues.

At the second act, Tom leaned to her slightly and told her that he knew the pretty blonde actress. “Her name’s Narcissa,” he whispered to her in the darkness, a bit amused. “Lucius fancies her.”

“But I thought he’s with Bellatrix!” She turned towards him in surprise.

Having no idea how close they were, her lips brushed against his jaw and her face blushed scarlet. “Sorry,” she muttered, her fingers grasped the fabric of her skirt on her knees nervously.

There was a pause.

“Bella? She’s just shagging him. They’re not together,” said Tom with a soft chuckle.

Hermione wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose, but when he spoke his lips were almost touching her ears. His breath fell on her sensitive skin. He was so close; she wondered if he could feel the heat from her burning ears.

When the play was over, it had started raining again and the city was drenched in lights and shiny water. They wandered down Buchanan, talking and laughing loudly.

Lucius and Bellatrix were smoking. When they offered Hermione one, she took it.

“Light?” Tom asked.

“Sure,” said Hermione.

They stopped in front of Boots. Tom bent his head, and held Hermione’s hand gently when he lit her cigarette. The bright little flame lit up his face. His palm was warm in the cold evening rain.

“Where are you from?” He asked, slipping the lighter back into his pocket and straightened up.

“Camden,” she said. “You?”

They started walking again, straggling behind Lucius and Bellatrix.

“Aberdeen,” he raised the cigarette to his lips and said languidly. “Born and raised.”

“Hey Tom,” Bellatrix turned about and said loudly, “Why don’t we go to the Necropolis?”

“What, now?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Does that really surprise you?” laughed Lucius.

Hermione laughed too.

She liked the Necropolis. She always went there for walks when she felt stressed or saddened. But it would be a bad idea to go at night. First, it was creepy. And second, not that she had confirmed it herself, they could run into some junkies.

“I think I’ll pass,” said Hermione.

“I’ll call you if I hear rings from the coffins,” said Bellatrix. “You don’t want to miss the fun.”

“Bring a stake and some holy water,” joked Tom.

Lucius and Bellatrix hopped off into the night, waving at them.

“They just want to get stoned themselves,” chuckled Tom.

“Oh.”

“Bella likes to fuck near the dead folks. It turns her on.”

Hermione widened her eyes, words had eluded her; she wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“But I suppose you’re not like us,” said Tom, his tone neutral and cool. “You’re a good girl from a nice, perfectly boring middle-class family in Camden. Scored high in a-level. Studying finance. The worst thing you’ve probably done in your entire life is smoking half a joint and decided you don’t like it.”

They walked down Queen as Tom was talking, and passed the Gallery of Modern Art.

They paused in front of the horse statue. Hermione glared at him in annoyance.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said coldly.

“What do your parents do?”

“They’re dentists.”

Tom laughed, “see?”

“Stop being a jerk!”

“Don’t you mean twat?”

Her eyes snapped up at him in surprise.

“Well,” he looked at her with a suppressed smile, his dark eyes gleamed under the streetlights, and his fringe was dampened in the rain. “You called me a twat when I stole your disgusting yogurt.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, “it was you!”

She hit him on the arm. He only laughed, and caught her hand. She tried to pull her hand back, but his other hand slipped around her waist and her heart missed a beat.

Tom cast a glance at the steps in front of the Gallery of Morden Art and said, “this is where I first saw you.”

“What?”

“You were sitting over there, reading a book,” his voice dipped into a low, deep murmur. “It was a sunny day. I just came back from a McFly concert, positively wasted. I wanted to talk to you, but couldn’t gather the courage. So I sat on a bench across the street and smoked half pack of cigarette. I stayed there until you left. And then I realised we live in the same dormitory.”

“So you decided to steal my food?”

He chuckled. “It was fun.”

Thankfully it was late in the evening and he couldn’t see her blushing.

The road was clear.

“Come,” he said, putting a hand at the small of her back when they walked across the street.

When they were walking back to their dormitory, his hand remained on her back.

She didn’t protest. A strange excitement, trembling and electric, filled her body and mind.

“What were you reading that day?” He asked, a bit curiously.

“ _The Plague_ ,” she said. “It’s not for my study. Just a bit of light reading.”

“Albert Camus is hardly any light reading,” He laughed. “His books are fucking depressing.”

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Which one of his books do you like?”

“Hmm,” he said, when they passed the doorway that led into the front yard under their building. “ _The Stranger,_ I suppose. _”_

“Why?”

“Because I connect massively with the main guy,” said Tom. They stopped in the yard. “To be honest, I could never connect with anything written in books. They’re stories, after all. But the guy in that book just reminds so much of myself. It amazed me. But I never read that story twice. Like I said, fucking depressing.”

Hermione chuckled, “so the only literal figure you can connect with is a killer. I wonder what that says about you.”

He chuckled.

“But you’re an actor,” she said. “How can you act if you find it hard to connect with characters?”

“Because I can bloody fake it,” he said flatly, with a little shrug. “Isn’t that what acting’s about?” 

Her heart missed another beat when he pulled her closer.

She looked up at him and their eyes met. He looked at her imploringly, as if asking permission.

She took a step back and her head hit gently into the stone wall. He pushed in, lifting a hand and caressed her cheek.

She blinked, her eyes transfixed on him and her tongue darted out quickly to lick her lips.

He took it as an invitation.

He leaned in and kissed her with tenderness. She let out a soft moan involuntarily when he pushed between her legs, and touched the inside of her bare thigh under her skirt with a knee.

An Irish play, a date with a tall, handsome acting student from the conservatoire, and a kiss on the raining night was exactly what she needed after a difficult week.

She reached out both arms and clung to his neck when she parted her mouth and sank deeper into the kiss.

After a few minutes he stopped, and whispered, “what would you like me to do for you tonight if tomorrow, ‘Mione, we’re going to die?”

She shivered at the sudden melancholy in his tone.

“Let’s go up to my room,” she said.

***

He didn’t go home for Christmas.

He didn’t say why, and Hermione didn’t want to push.

She came back to Glasgow four days before school started just to be able to spend more time with him.

Tom was a quiet person. He’d sit on her bed when she was studying with headphones on, reading a book or his scripts.

Sometimes he’d look at her silently. “Stop doing that,” Hermione would scold. “It’s creepy.” And he’d chuckle and look away.

Hermione spent more time in bed than she should. Time passed quickly as an arrow when they were together. It was as if no matter how much time they spent together, it was never enough.

It was as if she always knew she was going to lose him one day.

Winter left and spring came. Glasgow was a rainy city. The large windows in his room, facing the large red brick office building on the other side of Queen St, always reflected of millions of shiny raindrops like diamonds and stars in the mornings, afternoons and evenings when they had sex.

She would look up into the windows, into the faint blue sky outside and the pigeons gathering on top of the roof when she was getting close to come.

She’d engrave every detail of this image in her head. She wanted to remember.

He said he loved her on a Friday evening, holding her close to his bare chest. 

She remembered it was a Friday because the nightclub down the street was loud as hell.

When summer came, day light stretched into ten in the evenings, and Hermione was getting incredibly busy with her projects and graduation dissertation.

Tom was in his last year too. He spent more time in London than Glasgow recently. Every second they had together felt like borrowed happiness.

She wanted to make time stop.

It was Autumn when they both moved to London.

Tom shared a house with a couple of his actor and musician friends. He asked Hermione to move in with him, but she refused. “I’ve got a job with normal hours,” she said. “I can’t stand living in a house with a bunch of junkies. Why don’t you move in with me? My flat is nicer, and it’s in a more respectable neighborhood.”

“Respectable?” Tom said.

“Don’t get me wrong, I only meant -”

“Goodbye, Hermione.”

They already had a few rows before this one. They were always about life, work, and money. The usual matters that dragged one’s soul down into the bog.

She supposed this was the last straw. He never returned her calls or texts since then.

Her work had been busy. Life had settled into a routine, mundane, but good and normal. She'd have a drink with friends or coworkers on Friday evening. On Saturdays she'd visit her parents. She dated Ron Weasley, a guy who also worked in her office building in the centre of London's financial district. 

She asked Ron once what did he think about Camus at a date. "Who?" Said Ron, confused, 

"He's a writer," said Hermione. 

"Never heard of him," grinned Ron, with a mouthful of potato mash. 

She called Tom once when she was terribly drunk. It was picked up by a middle-aged man who had no idea who Tom was. Apparently Tom had changed his number and didn't bother telling her. 

She wasn't with Ron anymore. She occasionally sleep with Victor Krum, the guy she knew from her gym.

She was good at her job and she liked to keep busy. She didn't mind working until late night, or fly to other countries for business every once in a while.

It was only in those lonely nights when sleep escaped her she'd think of Tom. The way he smiled at her, and the rainy night in Glasgow when they first kissed. 

_“What would you like me to do for you tonight if tomorrow, ‘Mione, we’re going to die?”_

Of course she didn't miss him.

Not in the least. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this part - 
> 
> \- Mention of murder.  
> \- Attempt of murder.  
> \- Sexual content.  
> \- serial killer  
> \- When I used “Psychopath Tom Riddle” tag, I meant it.

It was spring again when Hermione saw Tom for the first time since they broke up. 

It was a mild April evening. She just came home from work, exhausted and emotionally drained. He was standing under her flat building, smoking a cigarette. The sun was setting down, casting a soft orange glow on the pavement. He leaned against a phone booth, casually dressed in a plain white shirt and a stylish black jacket; somehow he looked as if he had just walked out of a GQ photo shoot. 

He tossed the cigarette when he saw her. 

“Hey,” he smiled at her, reaching out a hand like an old friend. “It’s good to see you again.” 

He was thinner, and his cheekbones seemed sharper. His hair was longer, but still attractively wavy and mussed. 

She felt a sudden lump in her throat. 

Without a word, she walked ahead, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. 

She had missed him so much, to a degree that she could not even understand or explain. 

Later that evening, in Hermione’s bed, he played her curls around his finger when she nuzzled in his chest. “Can I borrow some money?” He asked huskily. 

“How much?” She said, half-absently.

“Fifteen grand.” 

She propped herself up on an elbow and stared at him. “Tom,” she said, worried, “you’re not in trouble, are you?” 

“Of course not,” he said, staring into the ceiling with a hollow look. “No. I’m fine,” he turned to kiss her. “Don’t worry.” 

“Then tell me why do you need fifteen grand!” 

“Are you helping me or not?” 

She sighed. “How’s work?” She acquiesced. 

“Great,” he shrugged. 

“Did you get any acting jobs?” 

“I’m auditioning,” he said. “But yeah, I should have something coming up soon.” 

“Let me know, will you?” 

“Of course.” 

Hermione transferred the money to him the next morning. 

He texted her a “thank you”. 

And he didn’t show up for the next six months. 

***

Hermione saw him again in Autumn. 

She walked out of Charing Cross station to meet Harry for dinner on a Saturday; Harry was a policeman now. Hermione had known him since she was eleven. They went to primary and middle school together.

Walking down a crowded street near Trafalgar, she saw Tom’s face on a large poster outside of an upscale-looking theatre. 

“Tom Riddle,” the purple and white poster read under the glamorous lights. “Starring in award-winning play Knights of Walpurgis. In theatre from September 20 to October 25 2021.” 

She stopped in surprise. 

Rather impulsively, she headed into the box office and purchased a ticket. 

She texted Harry that she couldn’t make it today. Headaches, she excused herself. Then she put away her phone and walked into the theatre. 

She hadn’t been into any theatre since that Irish play she saw with Tom back in her last year in university. 

Her seat was in the far back. It wasn’t a very good view. But still, she was sitting on the edge of her seat when the play started, and held her hands nervously on her knees. 

Without doubt, Tom Riddle was an incredibly talented actor on stage. Tom’s acting was convincing, his lines were delivered powerfully. And the final scene successfully drove Hermione to tears. 

The audiences applauded and laughed at the brilliant and hilarious parts of the play; and she felt a dull pang in her heart.

It was so strange, watching him from afar. On stage he displayed such deep emotions that he’d never shown her. Even on that Friday night when he said “I love you”, his voice was hollow and cold. 

Tom was never hers. 

He was simply too brilliant to be hers, wasn’t he? 

The play finished after three hours; the entire cast came back to stage and everybody stood up to clap and cheer. A small group of people near the front cheered especially loudly. Hermione saw Bellatrix, Lucius and Narcissa among them. 

When she walked outside of the theatre, it was dark already. The night was chilly but filled with people’s hearty laughter and voices.

A group of excited young girls were giggling and squealing together, with pamphlets, magazines and pens in their hands. 

“Oh my God,” one of them said, “Tom is amazing.” 

“He’s more handsome in person than on telly, isn’t him?” 

“We should get going,” another said. “To the stage door.” 

“D’you know where?”

“Oh yeah. Back of the building. I know the fastest way…oh, excuse me.” 

The girl beamed at Hermione apologetically when she accidentally bumped into her.

“Don’t worry,” muttered Hermione, and smiled back at her. 

And then she saw more people heading towards the back of the theatre building. 

Not sure what exactly was going on, Hermione followed them out of curiosity. 

The street at the back of the theatre was dimmer and emptier. A large crowd of excited people were already waiting at a pair of wooden doors, holding books and pamphlets; there was a phone with camera turned on in almost everybody’s hand. 

There were a couple of bored-looking security fellows standing there, telling the people to stay behind the line. 

Hermione stood at the end of the queue. She took out a cigarette and lit it on. When she was half way through the cigarette, shrill screams came from the stage door. She looked up and saw a couple of actors walking out, all dressed in casual clothes now.

One of the women seemed to be someone big, because a lot of fans were screaming at the sight of her. 

Tom, being the tallest of the cast, was easy to spot. He received a fair share of attention. He was in his dark jacket with the collar standing up, and his dark hair, which seemed damp after wash, were attractive as ever. 

He moved down the queue slowly, as he was signing for his fans, speaking with them nicely and taking pictures. 

There was a woman next to him, carrying a large tote bag, and taking the presents and letters the fans handed to Tom. 

When they were closer to the end of the queue, Hermione took a step back, and looked at him dumbly. 

It was then when he saw her. 

He looked up and paused, but only for a quick second. And then his face was back to normal; he smiled at a camera with a fan of his. 

Hermione tossed the cigarette to the ground, and walked away. 

She was just going across the street when his assistant, the woman with the large tote bag caught up with her. “Miss Granger, is it?” She panted, “Tom doesn’t want to approach you in public, but he wants me to give you this.” 

She handed Hermione a note. 

“Thanks,” said Hermione, “er…”

“Lena,” that woman gave her an impersonal smile.

“Thanks, Lena.” 

“I’ve got to get back.” She nodded at Hermione and trotted away. 

Hermione looked down at the note, and it said - 

_Piccadilly Circus in ten minutes._

***

Tom showed up two minutes late in a black car that he was driving himself. 

He leaned over to open the passenger’s seat. “Get in.” 

Hermione closed her coat, drew a deep breath and sat into the car. She barely pulled on the seatbelt before he let go of the brake. The car shot out quickly. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes.

“Congratulations,” she finally said, in a rather clipped voice. “It’s a great play.” 

“Thanks,” he said. His voice was flat. “You saw it?” 

“I was just passing by and saw the poster,” she said. “So I bought a ticket.” 

“How do you like it?” 

“I enjoyed it,” she said honestly, pressing the button to lower the window because she felt she needed some air. “You have so much more passion than your usual self on stage.” 

“I was just doing my job,” he said quietly. He sounded like he couldn’t care less how his stage work was perceived by others.

“You were so nice and kind to your fans. I’m surprised.” 

“Again, that is part of my job.” 

She let out a scoff. 

“Where do you live now?” He asked. “I’ll drive you back.” 

“Same place.” 

“All right,” he said, and turned on the GPS in his car. Hermione frowned when she saw that her home address was among one of the saved addresses. He clicked on it, and the GPS began readjusting the route. 

“How do you…” she began.

“I went to see you once,” he shrugged. “But you were with someone else. So.” 

He flipped on the turn signal and brought the car into the left lane, slowing down for the traffic lights. 

“I was…” she gulped, “seeing someone. But not anymore.” 

“Oh,” he said, “great.” 

“It’s not your business.” 

After a pause, he said in a sullen tone, “I guess not.” 

“I saw your friends in the theatre,” she said. “How’s everyone doing now?” 

“Lucius and Narcissa just got engaged,” he said. “He’s not on drugs anymore these days, thank God.” 

Hermione nodded, and didn’t speak anymore. 

He pulled into the curb under her flat building half an hour later. 

“Can I come up with you?” He said. 

She paused when she was about to open the door. “I don’t know,” she said. “Are you planning to borrow more money and then disappear for half a year again?” 

“Ah,” he said, unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned into her. “I’ll give you the money back, if you want. Do you charge interests?” 

His breath fell on her cheek and she tensed. His hand moved up from her waist to the side of her breast, but before he moved any further, she grabbed his hand and stopped him. 

“I can’t deal with it anymore, Tom,” she said.

“What?” 

“Whatever game you’re playing, I’m done,” she said, suddenly wanting to cry. “You have to be either done with me or commit to it. Make a choice.” 

“Are you giving me the ultimatum?” 

“I suppose I am.” 

“Hermione,” he said coldly. “You don’t _know_ the real me. You don’t want to get too close.” 

“Why?” 

“Because…” he pressed his forehead up hers and sighed deeply. “I cannot feel it.” 

“Feel what?” 

“Love,” he whispered, “I am not capable of feeling it.” 

Slowly, she raised a hand and placed it on his cheek gently. 

“I don’t understand…” she said. 

He kissed her roughly, and desperately.

Her fingers slipped into his hair and gasped when his hand reached down her skirt and rubbed into the warm, damp centre of hers. “You’re too good, too warm and too kind for me,” he whispered, pushing her knickers aside and digging his index finger inside. “Do you know that you drive me nutters? Do you know that I have been through shit you couldn’t possibly imagine?” 

“I still don’t understand…” 

“I grew up in a fucking orphanage,” he hissed into her ear angrily, while his finger moved inside of her, and his thumb was rubbing her clit sensually. “My dad was a rich bastard. He didn’t want me.” 

“Your dad...was?” 

“Yes,” he said sharply as he bit into her skin on the neck, “I killed him when I was sixteen with this very hand buried in your cunt right now. I strangled him in his sick bed. I had the thrill of my life when I watched him die.” 

Coldness grasped her heart and froze her veins.

She was horrified. 

But what horrified her more was that she didn’t want him to stop touching her. 

“I got all of his money after he died,” he said maliciously, and unbuckled his belt. He reached down Hermione’s seat and pushed the button to lay the seat flat. And then he was on her, his hot erection pressed against her tightly. 

“And I put myself through the education I wanted,” he tore her knickers down with one hand and pushed the tip of his cock into her wet entrance.

She bit back a scream, and stared at him in terror. 

But still, she didn’t want him to stop. 

“My father used to look at me with those cold, empty eyes as if he was afraid of me,” he hissed in the dimness. It started to rain. The raindrops, fast and heavy, broke into hundreds of shiny pieces on the windshield and reflected the orange street lights. He thrusted into her without mercy. “As if he hated me,” he hissed, “as if he wished I was never born.” 

He thrusted into her again, and she cried out loud. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, shoving a hand under her band tee. _“Post Break-Up Sex”_ was the song that was printed in front of her chest. He grabbed her nipple and rubbed it harshly. “Don’t look at me with those cold, empty eyes as if you are afraid of me now,” he kissed on her lips brutally, and she whimpered in pain. “Don’t.” 

He began to move faster. Waves of senseless pleasure consumed her. 

Her nails dug into his skin when they both moaned and gasped in orgasm. He dropped on top of her and she caught him with both arms. She held him tightly, tighter than she had ever hugged anything or anybody in her life. 

She looked up into the lights and rain on the windshield, into the darkness of the Autumn evening sky.

He was still inside of her. Their sweat mixed with each other. 

“Do you still want to give me that ultimatum?” He whispered. 

“No, Tom,” she said shakily. “I don’t think I want to see you ever again in my life.” 

“But it’s a bit too late, isn’t it?” He whispered, pulling himself out and zipped on his trousers, “You’ve learned my secret. You have gotten too close. Way. Too. Close.” 

Hermione’s eyes opened widely when his hands moved up to her throat.

“There’s no point in trying to get away,” He whispered with a sweet, sick intimacy, his eyes gleamed like a demon. “Don’t you see? Sex is just an appetiser. This...” he paused, and grinned wider, “this is the entrée.” 

She gagged and struggled when he began strangling her. 

It was then when the police sirens pierced through the rainy night when four or five cars approached them; the tires screeched as the cars skidded to a stop. At least a dozen policemen jumped out of the cars. 

“Let go of her and get out of the car!” Harry shouted, “put your hands above your head!” 

Tom stared at her in fury when he was dragged out of the car and arrested. 

Hermione pulled on her clothes, shivering badly as she scrambled out of the car. Her wobbly legs could barely support her own weight. Her chest hurt. She had to gasp for air.

Harry gave her a blanket and led her to an ambulance to sit down. His firm hand was on her shaking shoulder. 

“Are you all right?” Asked Harry. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

"If it weren’t for you, we’d never have gotten the confession. Do you have the…”

“Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “The recorder’s in my bag.” 

“Brilliant,” said Harry. “I can’t thank you enough for this.” 

“We believe that the son of bitch also killed a college girl in Glasgow called Myrtle Warren,” said another polite officer, catching up with her and Harry. It was Cedric Diggory, Harry’s friend and colleague. 

“And Frank Bryce,” said Harry, rubbing his hands. "God knows how long I've been waiting for this moment." 

"Great job, Granger," said Cedric. "When we first approached you for help, I wasn't expecting to catch this smart piece of shit so fast.” 

"I didn’t think it would happen so soon either," said Hermione. "I saw the opportunity today and I took it." 

“Hermione texted me as soon as she got into his car,” Harry told Cedric. 

"I say your talent is wasted in that sodding bank, Granger," grinned Cedric. "You're more competent than half the morons in my station! Perhaps you should come in later to help with the interrogation.” 

“Can I…” Asked Hermione, “can I have a word with him?” 

“Are you sure?” Said Harry, worried. “He’s dangerous.” 

“He’s handcuffed,” said Hermione. “What harm can he do?” 

“But-”

“Harry,” she said, looking into his green eyes. “I just want to have a word. I need this. Please.” 

Harry exchanged a look with Cedric and conceded. “All right,” he said. “But I’ll be right behind you.” 

Hermione walked up to Tom in the rain. Her hair was loosen and her lips were bruised. 

He looked at her quietly.

It was if she had walked through the years between this moment and the day they first met.

Wind whistled in her ears, humming, whispering, like a lament of her life.

And all those years flashed in front of her like a movie - 

_He opened the door for her gentlemanly, and smiled at her._

_He held her hand when he lit her cigarette. His eyes gleamed behind the warm little flame._

“ _You were sitting there, reading a book...I wanted to talk to you, but couldn’t gather the courage.”_

There was always a hollowness in his eyes, but in his voice there was a strange yearning.

When he watched her, and when they had sex, it always seemed he was silently studying her; it was as if he was puzzled by her. It was as if he wanted to crawl out of the darkness he was born into and touch her, taste her, but he was afraid. He was afraid of the burn. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” she said. Her voice was trembling but oddly firm. “You know I have to do this. I have to.” 

He looked at her coldly, his eyes void of all emotions. 

“I just want you to know that…” she took a step forward and looked at him through teary eyes, “that _I loved you._ Truly.” 

A devious, razor-thin smiled flashed across his face.

He leaned in.

“You don't think this is the end, do you? I will get out one day, and then, no matter where you are, I’ll find you, hunt you down till the end of the world." He breathed, baring his teeth, "Tomorrow, ‘Mione, we’re _all_ going to die.” 

~FINIS~

* * *

_Guess I got what I deserve_

_Kept you waiting there too long my love_

_All that time without a word_

_Didn’t know you’d think I’d forget_

_Or I’d regret_

_The special love I have for you_

_My baby blue._


End file.
